


Matt Cortez (to the 5th Power)

by The WinneplaneO Girls (beckers), thelunaticfringe



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckers/pseuds/The%20WinneplaneO%20Girls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelunaticfringe/pseuds/thelunaticfringe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt steps out of the box.</p><p>Then, Matt steps out of the box again.</p><p>Then, Matt steps out of the box again.</p><p>Then, Matt steps out of the box again.</p><p>Then, Matt steps out of the box again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matt Cortez (to the 5th Power)

**Author's Note:**

> Crack, crackity, crack, crack. From 2007.

Matt Cortez stares at Brian Schechter in disbelief.  “You are fucking kidding me, Brian.” 

Brian shakes his head.  “I’m afraid not, Matt.  We’re going to need you to fill in for My Chem tonight.” 

“The entire fucking band?” Matt exclaims.  “Come on, Brian.  How the fuck is that going to work?” 

Brian shrugs helplessly.  The Projekt Revolution tour with LinkinPark has, up to this point, been running smoothly.  But, this morning, disaster has struck, and Brian is at his wit’s end.  Everything that can possibly go wrong has, and Matt is the only person who can save him. 

“You can see how it works at sound check,” Brian says.  “Then, we’ll have to decide if we cancel or not.” 

 _Five hours earlier . . . ._  

“Fuck no!” Bob Bryar says angrily, staring in the mirror.  “No fucking way am I going on stage like _this_.” 

Gerard Way looks at Bob, a chagrined expression on his face.  “It doesn’t look _so_ bad,” he offers, then cringes when Bob glares at him. 

“You did this to me,” Bob says in a furious voice.  “Gerard, _look_ at me.” 

Gerard sighs.  Gerard had convinced Bob to allow him to attempt a makeover, and the kindest way to describe what had happened is to call it a makeover mishap.  Bob’s normally blond hair is now a sickly shade of green, bringing to mind someone suffering from a severe case of seasickness.  The shade of green extends to his beard and his eyebrows, and, due to an accidental spill, his entire face is also the same shade of green. 

“You have to fix me,” Bob says to Gerard, his green eyebrows knitting together in anger.  “I’m fucking _green_ , Gerard.  I look like the Incredible Hulk’s anemic little brother.” 

“It’s permanent,” Gerard says in an apologetic voice.  “It has to wear off.” 

“Then find another fucking drummer,” Bob spits out, and retreats to his bunk. 

 _Four hours earlier . . . ._  

“Where’s Mikey?” Brian asks, climbing onto the tour bus.  “I need to talk to him about something.” 

“I haven’t seen him,” Frank Iero answers.  He is staring, puzzled, at his clothes, but Brian dismisses this.  It is imperative that he finds Mikey Way; tonight is supposed to be Mikey’s first night back after his extended honeymoon. 

Brian checks Mikey’s bunk and finds it empty.  He has checked the venue and the buses of the other bands, and has come up Mikey-less there as well.  He is beginning to panic as he exits the bus and tries to think of somewhere else Mikey might be. 

Ray Toro runs past Brian, his T-shirt over his head, not giving Brian a chance to inquire about Mikey.  Shaking his head, Brian walks through the bus area, double-checking the places he has checked before.  Still, no Mikey. 

Just as Brian is about to pull out his cell phone and report Mikey missing, Adam Lazzara walks by.  “Oh,” he says casually, “I’ve got something for you.”  He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Brian, then walks away, his hands in his pockets, whistling tunelessly. 

Brian opens the piece of paper and reads it quickly.  “Found a unicorn,” it says.  “Taking it back to Fairyland.  Back tomorrow.  Mikey.” 

_Three hours earlier . . . ._

Ray looks down at the ground, his mouth open in disbelief, then raises his hand to his head.  His hand touches nothing but skin, and he stares down at the mound of curly red hair on the gravel. 

“I can’t stand it,” his hair says to him.  “I’m supposed to be the biggest.  This Brad Delson guy—his hair—I can’t take it.  _I’m_ the biggest.  It’s either his hair, or me.  So, as soon as his hair is gone, I’ll come back.” 

Ray watches as his hair scuttles away, and then realizes there are fans lined up behind the chain link fence.  In a panic, he pulls his T-shirt over his head and races for the bus. 

_Two hours earlier . . . ._

“All of my clothes are too big,” Frank says to Gerard. 

“You probably lost water weight,” Gerard says dismissively.  He passes by a mirror, carefully averting his eyes.  “It happens to all of us.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” Frank insists.  “They’re not too loose.  They’re too long.  Look.” 

Gerard sighs in resignation, turning to look at Frank.  Frank has on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and it looks as though he is wearing his big brother’s clothes.  The jeans are several inches too long, and as Gerard watches in astonishment, Frank appears to shrink, his pants growing longer. 

“Fuck, Frankie, you’re—you’re shrinking!” Gerard exclaims.  “If you shrink any more, you’ll fucking disappear!” 

“Do something!” Frank exclaims. 

Then . . . . 

_15 minutes later . . . ._

Gerard turns to walk out of the bus to find someone to help Frank and inadvertently catches sight of himself in a mirror.  His eyes widen, and he reaches out to touch the mirror. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs.  “ _Gorgeous._ ” 

It should be explained that Gerard has not looked in a mirror for the past four years.  The magnetic attraction that he possesses works not only on other people, but on Gerard himself.  The last time he looked into a mirror, he remained in front of the mirror for two weeks, unable to tear himself away.  He had finally been lured away by the intoxicating smell of a caramel macchiato from StarBucks.  Alas, however, there is not a StarBucks here in this town.  It may very well be the only town in the United States without a StarBucks. 

Brian walks into the bus and stares at the chaos in front of him.  Frank is now at least seven inches shorter than he was that morning.  Gerard is inches away from the mirror, running his fingers lovingly over his reflection.  Bob and Ray are both hidden in their bunks, and when Brian attempts to pull the curtains, he is greeted by hissed curses and blows. 

Standing in the middle of the bus, Brian realizes that there is only one thing that can be done.

 _Present time . . . ._  

Matt rushes around the stage during sound check, trying to play all four instruments and sing the My Chemical Romance set.  After one failed attempt at _Dead!_ , he stops and shakes his head.  “This is impossible!” he yells at Brian.  “I can’t fucking do this!” 

Brian sighs.  “I guess we’ll have to tell Mike we have to cancel.” 

“Cancel what?” Mike Shinoda asks. 

Brian explains what has happened, and Mike looks thoughtful.  “Let me call Brad,” he says.  “He’ll know what to do.  He’s a fucking Einstein.  He can do anything.” 

Ten minutes later, Brad meets Brian and Matt at My Chemical Romance’s tour bus.  He assesses the situation, then nods sagely.  “I know exactly what to do,” he says. 

Entering the bus, Brad gives Frank a good, long look, then tells him, “Think big thoughts.” 

“What?” Frank asks. 

“Think big thoughts.  Think about Mount Everest.  Think about John Holmes’s penis.  You’ll start to grow, and you’ll be back to normal tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” Frank says gratefully.  “You _do_ know everything.” 

Brad visits Bob next.  He examines Bob’s greenness carefully, then says, “It just has to wear off.” 

“Thanks,” Bob says sarcastically, jerking his curtain shut. 

For Gerard, Brad says, “There’s a StarBucks in the next town.  That will fix him.” 

Ray is last.  Brad looks at him, then says gently, “We’ll find the ‘fro, Toro.  The Toro ‘fro and the Delson ‘fro will learn to co-exist.” 

“I hope so,” Ray sniffles.  “I miss the ‘fro.” 

As for Mikey, Brad simply shrugs.  “He’ll come back from Fairyland.  When he returns the unicorn, the inhabitants will help him back home.” 

“That doesn’t help my situation,” Matt says.  “What about me?” 

Brad sits down with his handy dandy notebook where he keeps all of his brilliant ideas.  Using his hot pink gel pen, he begins scribbling in the notebook, and when he is done, he jumps up.  “Come with me,” he tells Matt, and they hurry to the LinkinPark equipment truck. 

Brad climbs up into the truck and begins throwing equipment to Matt.  The equipment looks suspiciously like Joe Hahn’s turntables, but Matt doesn’t question. 

“OK,” Brad tells Matt.  “We need to go to Wal-Mart and buy a bottle of alcohol, a package of rubber bands, a Sharpie, and a wind-up alarm clock.” 

 _Two hours later . . . ._  

“This will work?” Matt says doubtfully, looking at Brad Delson’s finished product. 

“Of course it will,” Frank pipes up.  His shrinking has slowed dramatically, and he actually looks a couple of inches taller than he did the hour before.  “Didn’t you know?  Brad knows _everything_.” 

“OK,” Matt says.  He cautiously steps into the shiny metal rectangular box, and Brad slams the door closed.  He writes something with the Sharpie, pours the alcohol into a small bottle fastened to the alarm clock, sets the alarm clock, fastens the alarm clock to the turntables with the rubber bands, then sets the turntables in motion.  A terrible clanking noise comes from inside the box, and smoke rises from the top. 

Matt steps out of the box. 

Then, Matt steps out of the box again. 

Then, Matt steps out of the box again. 

Then, Matt steps out of the box again. 

Then, Matt steps out of the box again. 

“Ta-da!” Brad says triumphantly.  “Now, Matt can play all five parts tonight, and My Chemical Romance doesn’t have to cancel!” 

Brian clasps his hands under his chin and stares at Brad adoringly. 

“My hero!” he says. 

Brad nods smugly.  You see, he actually _does_ know everything.  It is a common misconception that Andy Hurley, drummer for Fall Out Boy, knows everything, but it is simply that—a misconception. 

Brad Delson taught Andy Hurley all he knows.  And, _everyone_ knows the teacher never teaches the student everything he knows.


End file.
